


Turn on a Light

by themadmage



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Familial Rejection, Happy Ending, Homelessness, Magical Accidents, Muggle Life, Spell Failure, The Weasleys Fest, There's happy in the middle too but there's also angst, but those things aren't detailed or graphic bc the story is about Arthur, it's not a total angst-fest but it's also not all fluff, like abuse and familial transphobia/homophobia, touches on some issues faced by homeless youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23181793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themadmage/pseuds/themadmage
Summary: Looking to get ahead on his Muggle Studies NEWT, Arthur Weasley instead finds his life forever changed.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28
Collections: The Weasleys Fest





	Turn on a Light

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2020 (first) edition of the Weasleys Fest. It was a fun fest with a casual atmosphere, so many thanks to a_reader_and_writer for hosting!
> 
> Another big thanks to a_reader_and_writer for her beta work on my piece. Any remaining mistakes are all on me!
> 
> Prompt details in the end notes.

Arthur Weasley, bleary-eyed Hogwarts seventh year, aimlessly perused the restricted section of the library. It was only October, but everyone who had sat their NEWTs knew that September was the best time to start preparing. 

Arthur was one of the only students looking to sit the Muggle Studies exam that June. Everyone else had dropped the course after taking the OWL, as that was all that was required for most Ministry positions. Arthur, however, found muggles fascinating. The things they came up with in order to get by without magic! He'd heard from an older friend that some low-level positions may be opening soon in the Department of Muggle Affairs at the Ministry and had decided that wowing the examiners on his Muggle Studies NEWT was at the top of his list.

Hence, his trip to the restricted section. Professor Silverwood had agreed to sign a pass for him so he could do some additional reading, though she had warned him that much of what he found in that section on muggles may be disturbing. Arthur didn't care. He could handle it, for the sake of learning more about his favorite topic.

The latest book Arthur had pulled from the shelf was written in Old English, or perhaps it was Middle English. Either way, Arthur couldn't read it properly without a translation charm. He'd had to mutter the charm twice before it had worked. Charms weren't his strong suit. 

Molly Prewett, Arthur's serious girlfriend, was much better at Charms, but she hadn't been able to spend the day in the library with him because she had agreed to lead some Potions tutoring sessions. As much as Arthur would have liked to have had her there, and not only to help with the translation charm, he was determined to get by without her help.

Several chapters into the translated book, Arthur saw something curious. A spell which promised to give its target a better understanding of muggles. He wasn't entirely sure why something like that would be in the restricted section, but that wasn't his primary concern. 

"Would it be cheating?" Arthur muttered to himself. He'd be using magic to augment his knowledge of an exam topic, after all. It wasn't as though he was taking a memory potion, though. The spell didn't seem to be intended to help him memorize facts and figures. Rather, it seemed like it would give him a deeper understanding of what it would be _like_ , to be a muggle. That understanding could put his knowledge into perspective, and be the key to the stellar exam score he hoped to receive. And the exam was still eight months away, so if Arthur was mistaken and the spell _did_ provide temporary, artificial knowledge, then it would have plenty of time to wear off or be removed before then. 

He pointed his wand to his own sternum, muttering the incantation.

Arthur waited several minutes after casting the spell, but didn't notice any results. He sighed, and looked back to the book. The translation charm appeared to have worn off, and Arthur realized with a start that it was much later in the evening than he'd thought. Quickly, he reshelved the book and raced back to the Gryffindor common room, eager to make it by curfew. If he was late, he wouldn't be able to get a goodnight kiss from Molly. 

A niggling voice in the back of Arthur's mind urged him to go out the front doors as he passed, but as focused as he was on the time and his girlfriend, Arthur ignored it.

The Gryffindor seventh years had Potions first thing the following day. Arthur didn't know why, but his ingredients didn't seem to be dissolving and combining properly. The potion he brewed, for which he was _sure_ he'd accurately followed the recipe, was utter slop. It was embarrassing, frankly. Even as a first year he hadn't botched his potions this badly. 

Molly looked at him in concern, but he reassured her the best he could. Bad luck was all it was. A contaminated cauldron, or faulty stir stick. Really, it might be _good_ luck since whatever problem there was with his equipment hadn't caused a meltdown or explosion. 

The troubles continued in Transfiguration, however, and that was a subject that Arthur had always excelled in. They were reviewing turning cauldron cakes into cabbages, and Arthur just… couldn't make it work. Even stranger, though, was that he wasn't getting a partial transformation or any causing of the other magical catastrophes that one expected with a botched transfiguration. His attempts simply produced no result, as though someone had swapped his wand for a fake as a prank. 

He voiced this thought to Molly, who plucked his wand from his hand and immediately performed the transfiguration. It went a bit wonky, their wands being quite different, but the focus clearly channeled her magic. For the first time, Arthur started to wonder if something might be wrong. 

When Transfiguration ended, Arthur proceeded directly to the hospital wing. He'd never _heard_ of an illness that blocked someone's magic, but Healing had never been an interest of his so that only meant that it wasn't one of the really common ones. 

Madame Pomfrey became concerned when he explained his sudden inability to do magic and his utter failures in his classes that morning. She directed him to a bed and began to perform her diagnostic spells only to receive no result. 

"Mr. Weasley," she began, then seemed to hesitate. At this point, Arthur was becoming deeply unsettled. Anything that made the person in charge of the health of hundreds of barely-supervised magical teenagers hesitate had to be severe. Last winter, one of Arthur's roommates had tried to achieve "unaided" flight by fusing two broomsticks with his body. It wasn't effective, and if he had gone for help immediately it would have been a relatively simple transfiguration. He waited, however, and Arthur knew healing him had been much harder as a result. "Mr. Weasley," Madame Pomfrey began again, "What do you know of diagnostic charms?"

"Very little," he admitted, the confusion at her non-sequitur enough to shock him almost entirely out of his building panic. 

The mediwitch nodded. "A diagnostic charm interacts with the subject's magic. A person's magic reacts in small ways to every aspect of their well-being, from basic information like gender, height, and weight to severe magical maladies. The diagnostic charms are designed to interpret those small differences in a subject's magic and translate them into a visible format, which a person can learn to read as I have."

"Alright," Arthur said. It was interesting, but he really didn't understand why Madame Pomfrey had decided that _now_ was the time to give him an introductory lecture on the Healing Arts. 

"When I cast my diagnostic charm on you, Mr. Weasley, I received no response."

Arthur swallowed. "Could it be being blocked by the same thing that's keeping me from using my magic?"

"No," Madame Pomfrey told him, bluntly, but not unkindly. There was no need to get his hopes up, but also no need to be cruel. "These diagnostic charms work perfectly fine when cast on Squibs, who have magic within them but lack the ability to channel it into spellwork. The lack of response I'm receiving now is what I would anticipate if, for some reason, I cast diagnostics on a muggle." Arthur paled dramatically, listening with only half an ear as Madame Pomfrey continued. "I'm very sorry to say, Mr. Weasley, but there is no longer any magic at all within you. There are Dark curses which can do this to a magical person, but they're very obscure. There is, unfortunately, no cure or counter for your condition. While I understand it is likely a cold comfort, you can be assured that I will report this attack on you to the proper authorities and an investigation will be thoroughly conducted. The person who stripped you of your magic will not go unpunished."

"It was me,"" Arthur mumbled in shock. 

Madame Pomfrey blinked. "Pardon?"

"It was me," he said again, slightly louder even as he choked on his words. "There was- in the Restricted Section- oh, I should have never trusted my own translation charm!"

It took several minutes for Arthur to be able to coherently explain to Madame Pomfrey what he'd done the day before, and how he'd made the mistake. She nearly offered him a calming draught out of habit before recalling the situation. Potions, too, required magic from the drinker to take effect. 

Arthur waited for Madame Pomfrey to scold him for his foolishness, like when he'd gotten frostbite because he went to join a snowball fight without gloves or a warming charm as a third year, but the reprimand didn't come. Any scolding would pale in comparison to the prospect of living out the rest of his life without any magic.

"I'm going to have to leave Hogwarts," Arthur moaned. Madame Pomfrey just nodded. "Could I- That is, I'd really like to go speak to someone. Am I free to go?"

"Best not, dear," Madame Pomfrey patted his hand. This gentler, softer version of the usually stern mediwitch made Arthur's skin crawl. "It's a wonder the muggle repelling wards on the school haven't already pushed you out, best not to test it."

Arthur bit his lip. That was probably why he'd felt an urge to leave every time he got near the entrance hall. He'd really like a hug from Molly about now, though. Madame Pomfrey finished scribbling out a note, and tapped it with her wand. It folded into a crane and flew from the room, like Arthur had seen at the Ministry. Memos there weren't shaped like birds, though. Arthur's friend hadn't been able to tell him exactly what they were meant to be, but the shape flew well- both stable and quick. Another wave of regret hit Arthur then, as he realized he'd never get to work in the Ministry of Magic as a muggle. 

Arthur's mum had her lips pressed together in a thin line, the way she usually did when she was _furious_ with him and his brothers but wasn't sure if she should be angry or if this was something considered acceptable outside of the House of Black and its close associates. (Cedrella hadn't been disowned from the house of her birth after marrying Septimus Weasley, but it had been a near thing. The family's one saving grace in the eyes of her parents had been their dubious place in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, even though it was an open secret that that place was earned by petty feuds instead of a real resemblance to the other pureblood families listed there.) She'd had many culture shocks as she'd been folded into the Weasley family and learned how the rest of the magical world lived. Typically when she was in this position, Arthur knew she looked to his dad. 

His dad- His dad was standing, staring at him wide-eyed and shocked. Arthur didn't know what to make of that. It seemed his mum didn't, either, because her expression became neither openly angry nor resigned. "Completely without magic, you say?" The man asked weakly. Arthur winced. He'd never seen his dad quite like this, but the closest he could recall was when one of his uncles had died. That didn't bode well. 

Later that night, Arthur was in his bedroom, curled up on top of his quilt and staring blankly at the sky past his window. Just hours after Madame Pomfrey had diagnosed his issue he'd been home. Neither of his parents had said much to him, but he hadn't said much to them either. He'd withdrawn to his room and sat in the dark. Tapping the wall failed to activate the lighting spell in the room, now that he was a muggle. His wand was still in the pocket of his school robes, which he hadn't yet changed out of. It was just a stick to him now, but he didn't want to part with the ten inches of birch and dragon heartstring all the same. He was glad it hadn't been snapped when he'd left Hogwarts. He hadn't actually been expelled, after all. He'd just lost eligibility to attend. 

He hadn't gotten to see Molly before he left. 

Time passed, and Arthur gradually stopped trying to activate the various spells and magical objects he'd been surrounded with all his life. That seemed to be the extent of his ability to adjust, however. 

He was drawing further into himself. He hadn't spoken a word in three days, and neither of his parents had made any attempt to change that. Whenever he was in the same room with them, they hardly acknowledged him. His mum's face grew pinched, and his dad looked at him like he was a stranger. The drastic change in their relationship was one of the most difficult things for Arthur to cope with. Prior to accidentally stripping himself of his magic, his parents had indulged him. He was their youngest, and nothing he'd done had changed the way they adored him. Nothing until this. 

He hadn't written to Molly since being swept away from Hogwarts without saying goodbye. At first he'd intended to, but he couldn't bear the thought of reaching out and receiving no reply. She hadn't written either, after all. Maybe he'd lost her love as well. The Prewetts were generally tolerant of muggles, but so were the Weasleys. That tolerance, Arthur learned, didn't necessarily extend to having one in the family.

It was better for her, Arthur was beginning to believe, if he maintained the distance that had grown between them. After all, an ex-wizard wouldn't be able to give Molly the life she deserved. He couldn't even lock a door or turn on a light. He couldn't work, couldn't earn money to support a family with her. 

Molly deserved better. 

The only thing which broke through Arthur's strangling, choking depression was anger. Anger at himself for his _stupid_ mistake, and his _parents_ for their inconsistency, and at the house for being so magical that Arthur couldn't even turn on a bloody _light_. 

"I'm moving out," Arthur said to his parents one day in late November. They looked up at him in surprise. Arthur wasn't even sure they'd realized he was there before he spoke. It was the first thing he'd said to them unprompted since the week they brought him home. For seven weeks he'd been moving around his childhood home like a particularly sullen ghost - silently, moodily, and in the dark. His parents walked on eggshells around him. Neither of his brothers had been home; Arthur didn't know what they knew or thought about the whole situation at all. "I can't make a life in the magical world, anymore. It's best if I go out into the muggle world and start finding my way."

"We'll give you some money to get started," Arthur's dad said to him. Arthur tried not to be offended by the relief in his parents' eyes at the thought of their non-magical son leaving them. 

Around ten days ago, he'd tripped in the dark and broken a finger on his left hand. His mum had tried to give him Skelegrow to mend the fracture, and had been flustered and upset when it didn't work. They were struggling to adjust as much as Arthur was, but that didn't mean he didn't wish they'd fight for him. 

It was his eighteenth birthday, four days after Arthur had told his parents his plans, and he was sitting alone in a park in muggle London. His dad had kept his word, and given him some money that he'd changed to pounds at Gringotts before sending him out the door. 

The trunk at his feet held everything he owned. Clothes, mostly, and soaps. He had packed his collection of plugs and the electric wireless he used to like to tinker with, though he hadn't touched either of those things since leaving Hogwarts. At least they weren't magical. He also had a couple of car manuals, and he'd brought his muggle Studies books along with his old copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ . As much as it hurt to lose magic, he'd loved those stories as a child and didn't want to let them go. At any rate, it wasn't like he ever _forgot_ what he'd lost. The last thing he'd packed, after much deliberation and several silent arguments with himself, was his wand. He knew he'd never get to use it again, but it felt wrong to leave it behind. He'd carried it religiously every day for just over six years. It was a part of him. 

Making his way in the muggle world was off to a rough start. He had looked for an inn to stay in, like the Leaky, but hadn't had much luck. The money was difficult and foreign to him, but he was fairly certain that the ones he'd checked were too expensive for what he had. On his way to this park, he'd nearly been hit by a car because he didn't know to wait before crossing the road. Magical transportation didn't usually involve much in-between, where a person could get in the way, and if someone happened to be flying their broom low to the ground then they were expected to do the work to avoid hitting anyone. Not so, apparently, with cars and roads. 

It was getting late. For lack of a better plan, and having learned over the last months that it was often easier to stay still, Arthur wedged his trunk under the bench he was on and laid down to try to sleep. It was freezing out, but he'd already gone numb to it. It hadn't occurred to him yet that he wouldn't be offered PepperUp or a warming charm and that perhaps he should be more worried about that fact.

It wasn't long after Arthur fell asleep that he was awoken by a light in his face. He blinked and squinted against its harshness, moving slowly as he tried to shelter his eyes. 

"You can't sleep here, kid," a woman's voice said from behind the light. It was brisk and efficient, but not unkind. Arthur missed some of what she was saying as he mused over the situation. "-catch your death, besides. I was half-worried that I'd found a body."

"'M sorry," Arthur slurred. "Nowhere else."

The light angled away from Arthur's face, and his eyes started to slip closed again. "Oh, no you don't," the woman's voice said again. "Up you get."

Arthur didn't move until the woman grabbed his arm and hoisted him up. He was stiff, and wished she'd let him sleep. "You're hypothermic," she murmured. Arthur didn't know what that meant. Perhaps it was muggle for _tired_. "Let's get you to A&E, then. Lucky it was me who found you. Could've been someone without your best interests at heart."

The words washed over Arthur without meaning. He was just aware enough to reach for his trunk, which he'd later be glad was still there, as she started to guide him away. She put him in a car, while Arthur wondered at her apology for having to use the backseat. It was uncomfortable, surely, but did muggles not like to sit behind their driver?

The car pulled up in front of a large, brightly lit building, and the woman manhandled Arthur out of the car again and inside. She put him into a seat gently before approaching a counter and speaking to someone there, but Arthur was quickly distracted by his skin beginning to hurt as though he were on fire. 

She came back over to him. "They'll get you taken care of here, and then help you find somewhere to go for a few days where you won't freeze to death. I don't want to find you sleeping on a bench again - or dead - so take care, you hear?"

Arthur didn't answer, and the woman was gone. 

The muggle hospital bore enough resemblance to St. Mungo's that, once he had his wits about him again, Arthur was able to realize what sort of place he was in. The treatment they'd given him was a blur. His memory had been fogged by sleep and hypothermia, which was apparently near-deadly cold. He remembered pain, but wasn't sure if it was caused by the hypothermia itself or the muggle treatment methods. He didn't seem to be cut up anywhere when he checked himself, which Arthur considered a good thing. While he doubted that muggle healers were barbarians who chopped people up for fun, like some witches and wizards claimed, it was a frightening prospect. 

A man came into the room, and Arthur tried to look less curious. The few times he'd gone into muggle London with his family, he'd constantly been told to stop gawking and drawing attention to himself. 

"My name is Brian Jacobsen," the man told him. "I'm working in this wing this morning. Now that you're more aware and out of danger, we just need some information from you." Arthur's worry must have shown on his face, because Jacobsen chuckled a bit. "Nothing too arduous, son. Let's start with your name?"

"Oh," he said, relaxing. "It's Arthur Pembroke Weasley."

"That's some middle name," Jacobsen said lightly. Arthur flushed. It was a perfectly common name among wizards. "Your date of birth?"

Arthur blinked in surprise. A Healer had never asked him when he was born. He supposed they could get that from their diagnostic spells. "The twentieth of November, nineteen fifty."

"So you turned eighteen yesterday?" Arthur nodded. "Can you tell me how you ended up on that bench in the snow?"

Arthur took a deep breath. "I didn't know where else to go." Jacobsen continued looking at him, and he elaborated. "My parents just… dropped me off with some money and my trunk. My trunk!" Arthur looked around wildly until he spotted the trunk against the wall and he relaxed. With a start, he remembered he was in the middle of telling a story. "I couldn't find anywhere else to stay that I could afford, and I was tired. I guess I didn't… think it through."

"Do you have somewhere to go, now?" Jacobsen asked him. Arthur hesitated, then shook his head in the negative. "We'll be sure to give you some information about available resources before we let you leave, then. We don't want anyone to freeze out there this winter. You'll be released soon. You may notice some pain or stiffness in your joints, and numbness or burning of the skin, but you were lucky and there is no deep tissue damage so you'll recover fully. There will be no long-term loss of function."

Arthur swallowed. He'd had plenty of _loss of function_ for a lifetime. "Thank you, sir."

The shelter the hospital had sent Arthur to was the kind of place that was depressing and trying very hard not to be, giving it a pathetic air about it. Still, it provided warm, dry beds and lockers so that its residents didn't have to worry over the safety of their belongings. It was also populated by others around Arthur's age who, like him, had nowhere else to go. The staff spoke to Arthur about how he'd come to be in this situation, and upon learning that he hadn't been to primary school or taken any qualifying exams (that he could tell them about, at any rate) helped him to find an adult education program where he could make up that difference. These exams were like OWLs and NEWTs, Arthur guessed, and while he had no idea what sort of muggle job he'd like to do he imagined that getting qualifications would be necessary for all of them. 

While no one else there used to be a wizard or witch, Arthur quickly learned that he wasn't the only young adult to leave home because of conflicts with his family over identity. There was Tiffany, who liked girls, and Laura, whose family refused to call her by her name. Arthur didn't know what a _deadname_ was, but he realized quickly that it was hurtful and he shouldn't ask Laura for hers. 

Arthur didn't need to know that part of Laura's history to realize that she was a good friend to have. The third day that Arthur was at the shelter with her, they went to the library together and she only looked at him a little strangely when he didn't know how to use the card catalogue, which was different from anything Arthur had seen at Hogwarts, or when the books he needed her help finding included basic texts on UK currency and electricity, and a dictionary. (Arthur had never seen a plug which actually _worked_ before, and had had quite a shock on his first day at the shelter. He'd decided then that, while he knew a lot about muggles for a wizard, he didn't know enough to get around in this world. Ecklectricity _hurt_.)

Laura and Tiffany brought Arthur with them to another shelter when they'd stayed their limit at the first, for which he was grateful. The staff at this one wasn't so nice, but Arthur didn't feel as though he was alone in the world anymore. 

This second shelter had a bulletin board advertising short-term work opportunities, which Arthur nervously looked over. 

Tiffany came up to him on the third occasion. "Looking for anything in particular?"

Arthur startled. He hadn't noticed her coming up behind him, and she kept herself separate from him more often than not despite their acquaintance. "I just… don't know what any of these entail," he admitted softly. 

Tiffany gave him an odd look. "Did you escape from a cult, or what?"

"No!" Arthur nearly shouted. He knew about cults - they were the sort of thing that You-Know-Who's followers had been before they'd graduated to terrorism and started a war. "It was just a… very different life from… here."

"Alright," Tiffany said with a shrug, and started explaining the different jobs on the board. Arthur got the feeling she didn't believe him, but at least she wasn't pushing.

Laura suggested to Arthur that they look into getting space in a flat together with the money they were earning (as well as the starter cash that Arthur had from his parents, which he'd hoarded away as much as he could). She made the offer to Tiffany as well, but Tiffany worried that if she stayed in one place too long she'd be found by someone she didn't want to see again. Two of the others staying at the shelter - Jim and Harper - had a similar idea and between the four of them they were able to find a place. 

The flat was incredibly small. Laura and Harper shared its one bedroom, while Jim and Arthur slept in the sitting room, which was combined with a small kitchen. All four of them slept on the floor, as they didn't have enough money for any furniture, but the others seemed pleased to have a place to stay that they wouldn't have to leave every week or so, and Arthur could only agree that it was a good thing. 

The shower was cold more often than it was warm, the lights flickered, and Laura swore she'd seen a mouse, but Arthur had an address to put on job applications now and was able to find a part-time position as a grocery clerk where he could stay for more than a day or two. He'd gotten plenty good enough at handling muggle money for the job. (Once he'd stopped being so intimidated by it, he'd realized it was actually quite simple. Values were in fives, tens, and hundreds rather than seventeens and twenty-ones, and all of the paper money was labelled accordingly.) Occasionally he got caught up in looking at the different boxed and canned foods that he hadn't imagined could be boxed or canned, but so long as he worked quickly enough it wasn't commented on. 

Back at home, Arthur and his new flatmates lived on mostly rice and noodles. When there was produce which was damaged or beginning to go soft, Arthur brought it home to share. 

On some level, this meager lifestyle made Arthur miss home. His soft bed, his mum's cooking. But at the same time, Arthur felt more at home than he had since leaving Hogwarts. They kept the lights off to reduce their electric bill, but Arthur wasn't as bitter about living in the dark now that it was a shared experience instead of something to remind him that he was damaged.

By mid-December, Arthur's biggest regret was that he hadn't taken the time to write to Molly before leaving the wizarding world for good. He was improving his life, and feeling better, and beginning to realize that even if his life had changed forever that maybe it didn't mean it would be less. Sure, the life he lived at this moment wasn't where he'd want to bring her and start a family, but the classes he'd registered for began in January and he was starting to think he might like to work on cars. That was what Jim planned to do, and the idea of taking something apart, fixing it, and putting it together again appealed to Arthur. It was something like what he was doing with his life, and Arthur used to dream about knowing how cars worked. He even had some manuals. 

So he'd begun, once again, to miss Molly the way he had when he'd first been bustled away from Hogwarts, but he had no owl available to send her a letter. 

Arthur hadn't meant to get drunk. Muggle beer, it turned out, was _nothing_ like butterbeer. It tasted foul in comparison, though he was getting used to it, and it was far too alcoholic be given to a third year in Hogsmeade. (Arthur wondered if he'd sold any of this to someone underage at the grocer, and promised to remember to check.) One of his flatmates had found a sofa for free on the kerb, and brought it home along with some beers to celebrate their first piece of furniture. 

"I miss magic," Arthur cried after spilling his beer. "I could've just magicked this away instead of having to dab it out of the rug with a rag."

"Sorry, what, mate?" Harper asked, laughing uproariously. 

"I used t'be a wizard," Arthur explained in a slurred voice, not giving a single thought to the International Statute of Secrecy. "Never used electricity before or been in a car. We just waved our wands and- _poof_. I like what we've got going here but I do miss when I could use my wand."

"Blimey, Art," Laura wondered. "Tiff said you might've left a _cult_ but- Blimey..."

"It wasn't a cult!" Arthur exclaimed, offended. He'd known Tiffany hadn't believed him. "It's a whole other world!"

"Whatever you say, mate," Harper said, still chuckling. "You ever want to talk, we're here."

"I really was a wizard," he insisted. Arthur didn't know why, but it was important to him that they believed him.

"Can you show us?" Jim asked. He was laughing, too. 

Arthur shook his head. "Magic's gone. I lost it, that's why I left."

The other three continued to take the piss, when Arthur remembered something that _could_ prove what he was saying was true. The only magical objects he'd brought with him that didn't require activation by a magical person were his books, but that included his _illustrated_ copy of _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. In seconds he was digging through his trunk. When he found the book, he raised it over his head with a shout of triumph. 

Jim's, Harper's, and Laura's eyes were like saucers as they took in the moving drawings accompanying "Babbity Rabbity" and "The Three Brothers." He told them which parts of each story were real, or made up, or lost to history until they all fell asleep with the book between them. 

The next day, Arthur sheepishly told them that it was illegal to tell muggles about magic and could they please not tell anyone else as he didn't want any of the four of them to have their minds wiped or be put in prison with invisible soul-eating monsters? Arthur's flatmates were less enamored with that bit of the magical world than they had been with illustrated children's literature, but they all agreed to keep quiet. 

Life with everyone _in the know_ was different, but in some ways it was the same.

He was able to question his flatmates more directly when he was confused about muggle things. Often they were astounded at what magical life entailed, and he ended up having to explain why the magical world didn't use phones and how they had owls instead and how the owls knew where to go before he got an answer to his question. Occasionally he used magical idioms or didn't recognize a common muggle turn of phrase, and it no longer drew such strange looks from Jim, Laura, and Harper.

Arthur's flatmates were still sympathetic over his loss of his home. He finally learned what a deadname was (though he still didn't ask) when Laura told him about losing her own family in a similar way after she came out as transgender. When he told her that magical diagnostics were able to identify a child's correct gender regardless of their appearance, the hunger and envy in her eyes almost made him feel guilty for saying anything. She told him it was okay, when he expressed this, and that as brilliant as it would be if she had that the knowledge didn't change anything for her for better or worse.

Arthur still had a lot to learn about muggle life, but he didn't have to go it alone. Harper recommended several muggle books that Arthur should read in advance of the literature course he'd begin in January, and Laura turned him towards primary level science texts to gain background there. They looked over his Muggle Studies texts from Hogwarts as a group one night, and filled him in on advances that had been made since the course was updated. In return for their help, Arthur gave Laura his easy and immediate acceptance, Jim the opportunity to ramble about the cars and motorbikes he loved so much, and Harper the first pick of his nearly-expired produce. He was grateful for all of their help, and told them often. "It's what mates do," Laura said casually, and that was the end of the discussion.

Life went on. It was nearly Christmas when Jim and Arthur were awoken late at night by the locks in their door clicking open. Jim reached for the bat he kept nearby, but as soon as the door opened and admitted the intruder, Arthur's face lit up like a lightbulb. 

"Rather chilly in here, isn't it?" A familiar voice muttered. Molly Prewett drew her wand and cast a warming charm over the flat. (Arthur glanced at Jim, who had frozen in awe with his fingers resting on the bat. It was one thing for Arthur to tell them about the ease of waving a wand, but it was another entirely to _see_ it.) Molly cast several witchlights into the air, illuminating the room, and seemed to be about to begin _scourgifying_ everything when she turned and saw the two men in the sitting room. "Arthur!" She exclaimed cheerfully. His heart clenched, and he got up from the sofa (because it was his turn to sleep off the floor that night) and went to her. Her wand was in her sleeve by the time he reached her and she clasped his hands in hers. "I've missed you so much! I didn't realize you didn't live alone! Is he-"

"All three of my flatmates are muggles, like me," Arthur cut her off, "but they already know about magic and they've kept the secret. There's no need to worry."

Harper and Laura had wandered from the bedroom to see what the commotion was all about, and Molly looked at them in surprise. "Molly," Arthur said, "This is everyone. Everyone, this is Molly."

Each of Arthur's flatmates introduced themselves properly, while Molly muttered her own name back in shock. When everyone was acquainted and no longer staring, Arthur turned back to his- whatever they were, now, after months of not speaking without breaking up. Softly, he asked, "What are you doing here?" 

"I came to see you, of course," she scoffed at him before shoving one of his shoulders. It wasn't hard enough to hurt by any stretch of the imagination, but Arthur still grimaced at the evidence she was upset with him. "How _dare_ you not write to me, Arthur Weasley! It took me _three weeks_ just to find out what happened to you, and I had to hear it from those miscreant fourth years always sticking their nose in it, Flaherty and Jones!"

"I'm sorry Molly," Arthur said with another grimace. "I wanted to see you before I left the school but no one allowed it, and then I was worried you wouldn't want to hear from me because of- well."

"Because you lost your magic? Arthur Weasley, do you honestly believe that your _magic_ was all that I loved about you? That it would matter to me if you lost it?"

"It mattered to Mum and Dad."

"And I gave _them_ a piece of my mind, when I went to your house only to find out they dropped you off in Muggle London without a fuss, and _on your birthday_ no less! The nerve!" A grin broke out on Arthur's face. Molly hadn't changed a bit, and his loss of his magic really didn't put her off. And Merlin, how he'd _missed_ her. "You are brave," Molly continued, "And funny, good-hearted, attentive, resilient- I love so much more about you than magic. I love you, Arthur, and it broke my heart not to know what happened to you. I thought to write myself when I learned what had happened, but I thought to see if you'd write to me first. And then the holidays were so close so I decided just to see you instead so I could tell you off properly. My parents think I'm at school, studying for NEWTs, since I intend to spend the holiday with you instead of them. If there isn't space enough for me here, I'll get a room nearby until term begins again."

"I love you too, Mollywobbles," Arthur said softly, his voice filled with emotions he struggled to separate and name. "I'm very sorry I didn't write. By the time I had the nerve, it was too late and I didn't have an owl handy."

Molly stared for a moment before nodding. "Erroll will be happy to wait for a reply, when I write you from Hogwarts this spring."

"He'll get one for every letter," Arthur promised. 

_Thirteen Years Later_

Arthur wiped his hands on the denim trousers he wore, already horribly oil stained despite Molly's best efforts at scouring them clean. He had two pairs which he wore when he went to work in the garage so that the rest could be worn around the house without giving Molly an aneurysm. 

They lived in a house in Devon, as far from the nearest Muggle town as Arthur could reasonably commute so that the children's accidental magic or pickup games of quidditch could go unnoticed. The house itself was muggle, with electric lighting and other non-magical necessities for a comfortable life. The kitchen had needed re-doing with a magical cooling cabinet instead of a refrigerator when Molly's cooking had caused the appliance to go on the fritz, but it was otherwise just fine.

Arthur made more than a decent living as a talented auto mechanic, and Molly brewed and sold potions on the side to ensure they had money for a rainy day. They'd been happily married for over twelve years now, and today was their eldest son's eleventh birthday. 

William had found Arthur's old wand, tucked safely away in a box, several days earlier. Molly had scolded him for digging in others' things, but she and Arthur were both pleased and proud to see his wand choose their son. Ten inches of birch wood and dragon heartstrings, lightly used. 

They had seven children, and four of them were magical. Their twins, especially, required some distance from muggles in their day to day lives as they had a mischievous streak miles wide. Their three children who were muggles, like their father, were or would attend secondary school in the nearby town.

All seven were home schooled for their primary years, in an effort to avoid questions. 

Laura still came around often, and Jim and Harper sent cards for birthdays and Christmas. Arthur often went to visit with Braden, who he'd met while doing his qualifications, but seldom invited him to the house. He blamed it on the children, but the truth was that Arthur hadn't gotten drunk and rambled about the magical world with Braden. 

There was family, and love, and laughter, and the satisfaction of a job well done. Life in the Weasley household was very little like Arthur had once planned, but it was everything he needed. Happiness, it seemed, could always be found if you could turn on a light. 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 15  
> Prompter: Anon  
> Prompt: A spell gone wrong leaves Arthur fully Muggle.  
> Pairing: Any or none.


End file.
